Page 60 of Hockey Nanny

“I love this part,” Boone murmured.

“Me too,” Henry said, barely audible.

When he thought nobody was looking, Boone sent a kernel of popcorn sailing over his shoulder. It shot dangerously close to Carissa, but I swatted it out of the way before it could hit her.

She flashed me a smile that made my chest thrum. “My hero.”

The tension in my crotch coiled even tighter.

We settled into the movie, the room quiet except for the movie. But there was nothing quiet about how I felt. Every small movement from Carissa—a hand adjusting a pillow, fingers brushing over her hair, the subtle touch of her arm when she reached for more popcorn—sent a jolt through me. I kept telling myself she wasn’t mine to want, that Boone and Dawson already had her attention, and that I had no right to think about what it would feel like to be closer.

There was that, and the certainty that she wouldn’t want to add yet another situationship to her schedule.

I didn’t move. I just sat there, awareness keyed in on every detail of her proximity, every heartbeat that seemed to echo mine.

Soon, Dawson was snoring softly against the pillow, Boone’s arm draped over Henry as the boy drifted to sleep too. After a few more minutes, their breathing evened out into steady, rhythmic patterns.

Carissa leaned closer, hiking a thumb in Boone’s direction. “Does he always snore like this?”

“No. Most nights it’s worse.”

Her eyes sparkled in the dim glow of the projector, and we laughed quietly, careful not to disturb anyone else.

“How’re you doing?” I asked, letting the moment settle between us. It felt like the first time we were really talking since that night in the kitchen.

She glanced around at the sleeping bodies, her shoulders rising and falling in a soft shrug. “Right now? Pretty cozy.”

The space between us shrank without either of us moving, just the fort, the whispering, and our faces. Her breath ghosted across my cheek. She tilted her chin, lips parted in a slow, deliberate inhale, and I could feel how close we were, how obvious it was that I should lean in.

But I didn’t.

I…couldn’t.

21

~

Carissa

My books were abandoned in a heap on the desk. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t absorb a word, no matter how many times I reread the same lines. The quiet of the mansion pressed against my ears, and the restlessness inside me was growing, bouncing off the walls. I shoved my chair back and decided I needed air.

Silk camisole, skimpy shorts, nothing else. But everyone was asleep, so I didn’t care to cover up. I moved through the hallways, toes lightly brushing the carpet as I made my way to the courtyard. I almost turned back to get Henry from the pillow fort and settle him in his bed, but changed my mind almost instantly. He looked so comfortable, snuggling with Boone in that pillow fort. The guys would probably wake up with all sorts of aches and pains, but Henry would be so happy to know they’d spent the night with him there.

Passing the gym, I caught the sound first: a measured grunt, the clink of metal. Curiosity drew me closer, and I peeked inside. Gage was on the weight bench, shirtless, shorts clinging low. The bar trembled in his hands as he pushed through the lifts, muscles coiling and flexing with each press. Sweat caught the light, sheen sliding over the planes of his chest, across his shoulders, down the ridges of his abs.

I licked my lips.

“You’re still up?”

His voice made me startle, and I looked around to make sure I was the one he was speaking to. Which was stupid, because who else would it be? My feet moved without any instruction from me, and approached the bench where he hadn’t paused his workout.

“Too wired. What’s your excuse?”

He exhaled, a sharp puff of air as he went into another set. “Same.”

I watched him push and pump, the rhythm of his body hypnotic, his arms quivering under strain, teeth clenched. My gaze traveled the length of him, from the tight sweep of his shoulders to the line of hair trailing down the center line of his stomach until finally disappearing into his shorts. I had to fight the urge to touch, to trace that line with my fingers. Especially after noticing the tight stretch over his crotch area, and how it twitched every time he exerted himself in just the right way.

“Well, since you’re here, you might as well spot me,” he said.